Militia

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HARD CUT IN:

EXT. GRAYLING MICHIGAN, FOREST - DAY

The wind breathes through a suffocating forest in the fall.

We stalk through the decaying trees. The mud. The dead leaves.

We come to a hill top. The wind sifts the dead leaves to the

right, the left. One area staying still as the wind unearths:

A MAN. Lying prone on the hilltop in decaying leaf camouflage.

A Bolt-action RIFLE propped and aimed at a DEER near a stream.

We come in close on his eye as it looks through the scope...

We hear a single GUNSHOT sound out in the far away distance.

Low pitched. Fading out like a breath. His eye doesn't flinch.

He categorizes the sound of the gunshot, then fires.

EXT. FOREST ROAD - LATER

A bloody DEER HOOF leaks out from under a fluttering blue

tarp in the bed of a '91 CHEVY PICK-UP as the truck winds

through the forest. The man's shadow in the driver seat.

EXT. TRAILER IN THE WOODS - EVENING

The Chevy pick-up parked next to it. Wet FIREWOOD in stacks.

A detached, rusted generator. Laundry lines and chicken wire.

The DEAD DEER hangs from a rope draped over a tree branch.

The blood stained blue tarp on the ground under its body.

The man skins the deer. We see him now as he works. Long,

greasy hair. Stubble. Sunken eyes that don't know sleep.

Another low pitched GUNSHOT in the distance. Like a single

fracture in some Arctic iceberg. Hollow, deep and thundering.

The man recognizes and acknowledges his sonic acquaintance.

INT. TRAILER - NIGHT

An OLD TV plays a black and white re-run. A ceiling mapped

with water stains. A BED pressed against a wall with warped

wood panelling. One CHAIR. One TABLE. Each coated in dishes.

Cans. Newspapers. Each cheaper than the last.

2.

The man sears meat on an electric plug-in stove. He sits in

the lone chair, cuts a piece of meat, lifts it to his mouth...

Three fast, loud, high pitched GUNSHOTS sound out in the

distance. Different from the others...Automatic.

His hand stops.

EXT. TRAILER - MOMENTS LATER

The man RUSHES outside and stares out into the dark forest

that engulfs him. We push into the blackness and listen...

The high-pitched GUNFIRE continues in the distance. Escalating

in tempo like rain on a canvas tent roof. Accelerating.

The GUNFIRE CHORUS reaches its crescendo, when three harsh,

THUNDEROUS SOUNDS erupt in the distance. Explosions.

And then silence. The reverb of the assualt dissolves into

the wind like an apparition.

The man stays still. Eyes focused on the soundless woods.

Alarm in his eyes. Bordering dread. He knows what he heard.

This is GANNON(40).

INT. TRAILER - MOMENTS LATER

The man pulls a cardboard box from a closet. Tears it open:

A folded POLICE UNIFORM. PICTURE FRAMES. A KEVLAR VEST. A

PAIR OF BLACK-TOE SHOES, and a CB RADIO. He pulls the CB

out. Plugs it into the wood wall's open electrical socket.

His finger trembles as he reaches toward it, turns it on...

POLICE PATROLMAN (V.O.)

-CONFIRM SHOTS FIRE- ON -CER -ERAL, ULTIPLE

DOWN, WILCOX ROAD, -EDIATE ISTANCE

REQUEST. OVER.

A police scanner. Gannon squints as he tries to make out the

words from the SHRILL, SCRATCHY voice...

DISPATCH (V.O.)

Oscar Bravo thirty-two, say again,

please...

POLICE PATROLMAN (V.O.)

I REPEAT, MULTIP- DOWN. -EAVILY ARMED

GUNMEN OPENED FIRE ON -AL, ALL

ADDITIONAL- MED EVAC -MMEDIATELY

3.

It cuts out. Static. A cell phone RINGS on a nearby table.

He looks to it. 'OLSEN...' He answers.

GANNON:

I heard it.

OLSEN (V.O.)

Time you got?

Gannon checks his watch. 5:21 p.m.

GANNON:

Five-twenty-one.

OLSEN (V.O.)

Get to the safe house by five-thirty.

Olsen hangs up. Gannon scrolls the phone's address book to a

name we don't see. He calls...

Gannon's eyes twitch with fear as each ring leads to nothing.

No answer. He hangs up, then composes a text:

'CALL ME.'

Gannon moves his camo hunting jacket off the coat rack to

reveal a green waxed cotton military jacket. Puts it on.

He looks at a DUFFEL BAG next to the chair. Unzips it:

A document protector. Birth certificate. Passport. Sleeping

bag. Hand warmers. Knife. First-Aid Kit. A SURVIVAL PACK.

His hand stops on an item. He pulls it out: a SIG SAUER P226.

Checks the clip. Loaded. Tucks it in the back of his jeans.

He zips the duffel and picks it up.

EXT. FOREST ROAD - NIGHT

We follow Gannon's truck through the forest road like a

firefly in the night. A ghost in an uninhabited woodland.

INT. GANNON'S TRUCK - MOVING - NIGHT

Gannon pulls his phone out. Lights it up. 'INBOX: 0.'

His eyes sharpen, then rise to see the road sign:

'CROSS CREEK.'

He turns.

4.

EXT. CROSS CREEK LUMBER WAREHOUSE - NIGHT

A MASSIVE warehouse in darkness. Two FORKLIFTS parked outside

it. Then a single exterior LIGHT turns on and shows...

A man. Standing outside. Silhouetted in shadow. A hand raised,

he lowers it after activating the outdoor MOTION SENSOR light.

Gannon's truck pulls up. He gets out and approaches the man.

Sturdy. Built. Green military jacket. OLSEN(41).

GANNON:

Well?

Olsen checks his watch. 5:31. He nods back to the warehouse.

OLSEN:

Inside.

Gannon follows Olsen through the door. Shuts it tight.

The motion light stays on a moment. Then clicks out.

INT. LUMBER WAREHOUSE ENTRANCE/MAIN AISLE - NIGHT

A dilapidated lumber warehouse. Aluminum corrugated walls.

AISLES of LUMBER stacked high. A single line of industrial

lights hang from the ceiling. Some work. Most don't.

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